Snatched
by amandakid212
Summary: When Matilda Gregorian is captured by Snatchers after Voldemort infiltrates the Ministry, she's prepared for whatever fate has in store for her. It seems fate has a dark sense of humor.
1. Chapter 1

Matilda Gregorian drew her flannel more tightly around her shoulders. Despite the roaring campfire in front of her, the chill evening air was seeping into her bones. A gust of wind not only worsened the cold but blew a plume of thick smoke into her face. Eyes watering she slid down to the other side of the fallen tree where she was perched. Someone across from her snickered.

She shot a withering look at the long-fingered goblin between the flickering flames that separated them. Griphook bared his pointed teeth in a twisted grin and said, "A girl who flinches at the smell of smoke is not someone you want with you when the fire roars."

Matilda chose not to dignify this comment with a response. Griphook was not exactly subtle with his suggestions of her uselessness and inadequacy since she joined their troop, and arguing with the goblin had only resulted in encouraging him to continue his taunts with increased vigor. Besides, he had a point: Matilda had few real survival skills for someone who was in hiding in the English wilderness.

When she was very young, before she learned that she was a witch, Matilda had been a girl guide with the Muggle girls she at her school. She quit after their first camping trip; she was never a fan of roughing it in the outdoors. Had she known she would be on the run from the Ministry of Magic in the woods for several months, perhaps she would have thought twice about ditching further camping experiences. While she had grown used to stumbling across various kinds of bugs and wildlife in her adventures, she dreaded the frigid nights she spent lying on the ground praying to fall asleep quickly as she shivered beneath a thin blanket. She couldn't deny that she was exhilarated when she met Griphook and fellow Muggle-born Dean Thomas who were also evading the Ministry, Death Eaters, Snatchers, and whoever else persecuted witches and wizards born of non-magic parents; decent company is hard to find when you're on the run. But Griphook's abuse was beginning to wear her down, and Matilda was contemplating going on her own again.

At that moment, Dean materialized from the trees bearing grocery bags from a Muggle shop. While they all could practice magic, magical laws prohibited the materialization of food, so Matilda and Dean took turns shopping at a local supermarket. Griphook would be an odd sight to the Muggles if he stepped foot into town, so he stayed behind at the campsite. While Matilda enjoyed the normalcy of grocery shopping, she held a great deal of anxiety when entering towns and showing her face in public. Though she didn't relish life on the run from the Ministry, she couldn't fathom the devastating fate that would come to her if she were recognized and captured. With He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back in power, Muggle-born witches and wizards were considered inferior to those born into Pureblood families, and they weren't safe. So the fact that it was Dean's turn to shop in town tonight came as a relief for Matilda, though she regretted putting him in potential danger. The boy was seventeen, barely legally allowed to practice magic on his own and not allowed to complete his final year at Hogwarts. Matilda pitied him and felt a motherly protection toward him, though she was only five years older than he was.

"Eat quickly, guys," Dean said, pulling deli meats, cheeses, and bread out of the plastic bags. They're personal policy was to leave the area once one of them showed their faces in town to restock supplies. They couldn't risk being recognized and consequently reported. They had to keep moving—the life of a fugitive.

Matilda threw a sloppy sandwich together and practically shoved it down her throat. She couldn't remember the last time she had the luxury to sit and enjoy a meal. Griphook and Dean were doing the same, and soon they were extinguishing the fire and packing their bags. Dean shoved the remaining food in his backpack. Any non-magic person watching would wonder how it fit into such a small bag, but they all used Extension Charms to fit their necessary supplies into easily carried packs.

"Be right back," Matilda told them. Before they Apparated and moved on to a new location, Matilda figured she'd relieve herself. She ventured away from her comrades and into the trees. Once she was far enough away from the lads, she started to pull down her jeans.

"Well, isn't this a pretty sight," crooned a thick voice behind her.

Matilda stumbled, hastily yanking up her pants as she saw she was being watched by a gang of rough looking men. Immediately, she knew they were Snatchers—and that she was in deep trouble. The man who spoke was tall and lanky with long brown hair pulled back at his neck. He had hooded brown eyes that flashed dangerously above heavy bags that shone purple, like bruises. Just behind him was a burly man with a deeply scarred, animalistic face that Matilda recognized from horror stories as the werewolf, Fenrir Greyback.

"You finished, love?" the first man continued. He was striding toward her and was clearly the leader of the group. The way he looked her up and down disgusted her. "Wouldn't want to interrupt. But I have to ask… what's your name?"

"Samantha Vettles," Matilda responded automatically. She had rehearsed the name she would provide a thousand times if she ever ran into the authorities. It was the name of a half-blood girl she went to school with years ago at Hogwarts. She hated the way her voice wavered.

"Is that right?" the man said, cocking his head to the side, still approaching her. "That's not what your wanted poster says it is… Matilda."

Matilda resisted the urge to cringe when the man used her real name, but instead held her head high. "I don't know what you're—"

"Don't know what I'm talking about, sure, sure," he interrupted. "Maybe my accent's too thick—you lot never seem to know what I'm talking about, do you? Still, best clear up a few things at the campsite, see if we can't get past this misunderstanding."

The man was very close now, and grinning wickedly. His dark eyes bored into her like a python sizing up its prey, estimating just how wide to open its deadly jaws. She had been hunted by a professional predator, and he was about to go in for the kill. He grabbed her arm, pulling her so that his face was inches from hers, his hot breath smelling noxiously of sherry. "I'm afraid you're coming with me."


	2. Chapter 2

"In seconds, Matilda's wand was confiscated and her wrists were bound by leather straps conjured from the Snatchers' wands. The leader of the gang turned his back to her, strolling casually back to Greyback, whose malicious, lupine face could not be more delighted at her plight. His greedy eyes watched as two Snatchers patted her down.

"Hey—!" she objected as one man's hand ventured between her thighs. She nearly choked on her words as a gagging spell stopped her tongue.

"Don't want to hear nothing from you 'til we get to camp," the smaller man hissed. He jabbed her in the back with his wand.

His accomplice's hands moved and lingered on her ass. He had a scraggly beard and smelled like he hadn't bathed in at least a week. After what seemed like an eternity, he stepped away. Matilda had only a moment's respite because the smaller man grabbed her arm, and his wand pointed toward her neck.

"Don't you move a muscle, you hear me?"

Unable to speak and too afraid to nod, Matilda stood frozen in place, her breath caught in her throat. Then the man turned on one foot, a firm grip on Matilda, and she plunged into darkness, feeling as if she were being stretched through a thin pipe. They Apparated onto firm ground, and without the man's hold on her, she would have lost her balance and toppled into the dirt. The surrounding trees looked similar to the forest they just left, but as they were bare, and the March sky was darkening quickly, it was hard to tell for sure.

Just before her were a series of earth tone tents, camouflaged so effectively against the dry earth around them that Matilda nearly missed them. The other Snatchers appeared beside them shortly, and a few others emerged from the largest tent to meet their newest prisoner.

The hooded-eyed leader approached her – his large black boots not making a sound as he moved across the clearing. Greyback was at his side, the gleam in his animalistic eyes getting brighter.

"No damage done to the goods, I expect, Nestor?" the leader said.

Nestor grinned and shoved Matilda forward. "Only one way to find out."

"Right you are," the leader said, and Greyback snickered. The hooded eyes turned to Matilda. "My dear, come closer to the fire. We just want a look at you to make sure nothing was splinched during your journey. Don't worry, I won't let anyone bite."

He placed a hand on the small of her back and guided her toward the camp where the Snatchers gathered at the firepit, murmuring to one another excitedly. Panic swelled in her chest at the hungry look in their eyes as she grew near.

They stopped front and center, all eyes glued to them as if they'd made an entrance onto a grand stage. There were about a dozen of them, all on edge with anticipation. The man's hand remained on her back, and as her eyes darted across each malicious face, he leaned in close to her ear.

"Strip," he commanded.

Matilda stared at him in horror, pleading words unable to leave her mouth. He gingerly untied her restraints, his eyes boring into hers. Then he moved away, joining the leering crowd. She stood rooted to the spot, as if she were petrified.

"We're waiting," he said. "If the effort's too much, we can have someone do it for you."

The gagging spell seemed to be wearing off. Her eyes met the leader's again. "Please," she managed to say with a rasp. He twitched, at least she thought he did. Some of the malevolence in his gaze vanished. Was that shock that replaced it? Before she could ponder more about it, someone stepped forward. It was the man who groped her when she was first captured.

"Too slow!" he bellowed. " _Imperio_!"

With a jolt, she could feel the man's influence in her mind. _Take off your flannel_ , his voice echoed in her head. So easy, she thought, but she resisted. The effort to fight was draining though. She gave in, peeling off her overshirt and dropping it on the ground to a chorus of cheers. She wanted to give her head a shake to clear the strange haziness that enveloped her but found she couldn't.

 _Take off your shirt_ , the voice demanded. Again, Matilda realized she did not want to do this, but she found her arms easily lifted her T-shirt above her head. _Take off your boots. Take off your socks. Take off your jeans_. The Snatchers hollered and jeered as Matilda was left in her bra and panties. _Dance_ , the voice commanded. She thought to herself as clearly as she could through the fog: NO. Her body involuntarily swayed back and forth rhythmically, but with another mental effort, she thought again: NO. She stumbled and fell to the ground.

A rumble of laughter came from the watchers, but the man's voice in her head seethed with anger. _On your knees_! A bit surprised, Matilda obeyed, blinking incredulously at the angry man controlling her. _Take off your bra_. Recovered, Matilda now braced herself against this demand. Her right arm twitched, but she made no other movement. _Take your bra off, NOW_! The voice came again, increasingly persistent. Her nerves burned with the intensity of the man's spell, yet she remained still. Fighting this vile magic was immensely painful, but Matilda had been humiliated enough for one day.

The laughter had died down, and now the audience was impatient. What had happened to the show? Some of them shouted to the man who cursed her; others brandished their own wands. Matilda kept her face as stoic as she could – she had no idea what was going on and did not want to dispel any of her own insecurities to her captors.

"Enough," she heard the leader say above the clamor. The curse didn't end. The voice continued: " _Now suck my—_ "

"Giroux, I said that's enough," the leader cut in sharply. At last, Matilda felt the release of the spell and collapsed to the ground, caked with sweat.

She barely noticed as he crouched in front of her examining her with interest. She didn't have energy enough to face him, but she glanced at his face quickly, wondering what fate he had in store for her. In her exhaustion, all she really saw was the darkness of his eyelashes.

"Take her to tent 13," he said finally. "And leave her to me."


	3. Chapter 3

Matilda heard several of the Snatchers chortle at their leader's decision but didn't have the energy to react herself. In a flash, two men lifted her from the ground and shoved her down a path. Tent 13 was at the end of a long row of tiny, shabby tents, and Matilda hesitated as she stared at the welcoming shadows of the forest before her.

One of the men guiding her laughed. "Don't even think about it, doll. You run in any direction away from this site and you'll get a painfully nasty shock."

Matilda didn't respond. Of course, the camp would be protected with all sorts of spells to prevent runaways. She wondered if there were 12 other prisoners as well occupying the rest of the shanty tents. She allowed herself to be pushed into number 13. Like most magical establishments, the tent was larger inside than it appeared from its exterior. That being said, it still resembled a jail cell. A mattress sat on the dirt ground with one pillow and a blanket that – Matilda was chagrined to admit – was thicker than the one she carried while on the run. There was even a small bathroom with a curtain separating it from the rest of the room, as if they cared about their captives' privacy.

"Enjoy the luxury suite," the second of the two men snickered. "Only the best for Scabior's prizes."

"It's a shame you've been claimed, really," the first man added, eyeing Matilda's body clothed only in underwear. "Perhaps he'll let us all have a go once he's through."

The two men cackled at the thought and left her in dread, alone in the tent. She paused, hearing the men's voices fade, and then pulled back the opening flap of the tent. To her dismay, the tent entrance was charmed. The barrier was cool to the touch, she found with relief, but extraordinarily solid. Whatever magic was used cast a sepia-toned filter to the outside world. The colors made her head ache, and her exhaustion from fighting the curse overtook her. She collapsed onto the mattress and fell immediately into a deep sleep.

"Snoozing already?"

Matilda woke with a start, unsure of how much time had passed. It was now fully dark outside, she could tell, and the leader of the Snatchers, Scabior as one of them called him, stood before her, smirking.

"Can't sleep yet," Scabior continued. "I haven't had my fun."

Matilda had a good idea of what sort of "fun" he was after and she tensed, ready to fight off a physical attack.

She finally found her long lost voice as well, "If you lay a hand on me, I swear I—"

Scabior pulled out his wand and pointed it at her. Matilda fell silent.

" _Imperio_ ," he said calmly. Matilda instantly felt his influence in her head along with that uneasy cloudiness.

 _Stand up_ , he demanded in the echoes of her mind. Matilda was tired, but this wasn't too hard of a request. It was easier to get off of the mattress than to try to fight back, so she was soon standing at the edge of her bed. _Come here_. She took a few tentative steps toward him until they were face to face. _Take off your bra_. Scabior was stoic as he made the same request as Giroux at the fire earlier that night. Matilda was angry – not this again! But she was so tired. Her hands reached toward her back, but she finally worked to place them back down at her sides. _Take off your bra!_ Scabior pushed her harder, and Matilda broke. It was the easiest thing in the world – she unclipped the bra and dropped it to the ground, her breasts exposed to him.

His face remained stony as he glanced at them. There was a passion in his eye, yet he remained motionless. Instead he bored into her another request: _Remove your underwear_. Matilda was disgusted. She refused to comply. Her brain screamed at her as Scabior's curse pressed her: _REMOVE YOUR UNDERWEAR_. She had no idea how long they stood like this, staring at each other as Scabior pushed her into action and Matilda fought against it with all her might. Suddenly Matilda released a breath she didn't realize she was holding and before she knew it, she had pulled down her panties and was standing before Scabior fully naked. Her eyes pricked with furious tears, but he wasn't done with her.

 _Tell me you love me_ , he commanded. Matilda felt his words on her tongue. She pressed her lips together and remained completely still, afraid the slightest movement might ruin her resolve. She was silent, staring into Scabior's eyes defiantly.

"Interesting," Scabior said at last. He lowered his wand, and Matilda gasped as she felt the curse fade from her consciousness. He continued to stare into her eyes as he conjured a robe and handed it to her wordlessly. Then he turned on his heel and left the tent, passing through the barrier with a wave of his wand.

Alone again, humiliated and violated, Matilda pulled on the robe. It was thin but comfortable, to her relief. She crawled back to the mattress and covered herself with the blanket, letting tears flow freely. She sobbed until she drifted back to sleep.

It felt like she had only been asleep for a few minutes when a clatter came from the tent flap and she saw a glimpse of sunshine. Someone had slid her a tray with two pieces of toast for breakfast along with a short black dress that was to serve as her uniform. The events of the previous evening flashed back to her, and she nearly vomited. She forced herself to eat the toast anyway – who knew when she'd get her next meal? Then, still nauseous, she showered for a long time, trying to wash away the memories of her capture, the curses, the removing of her clothes without her consent. The water was icy cold, but she welcomed the freezing temperature as another distraction. Then she dressed - not in her new dress, but in the robe - and climbed back to bed. She fell in and out of uneasy sleep. She knew she had to think of a way out of this camp – who knew where the Snatchers would take her? Or would they keep her as their own prisoner forever? She wasn't sure which outcome would be worse. But she was so drained that she could hardly entertain a cohesive thought.

Matilda could tell the sky was starting to dim when Scabior entered her tent carrying two bowls of what looked stew.

"It has come to my attention that no one brought you lunch today," he said. "You must be starving."

Matilda eyed him warily. It would have been nearly 10 hours since she ate those measly pieces of toast. She was hungry but she didn't trust the pep Scabior seemed to carry in his step.

"I brought you some of Nestor's famous beef stew," Scabior continued. "Hope you don't mind me joining you for dinner. Personally, I think we have a great many things to discuss."

"I'm not hungry," she told him defiantly. She had no desire to speak at any length with this monster, let alone share a meal with him. At that moment the smell of roasted meat and vegetables hit her, and her stomach let out a loud rumble. Scabior raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, as much as I believe you there, love, I'm not asking permission."

He handed her one of the bowls and conjured a small table and two rickety chairs, taking a seat in one of them.

"Come on, then," he said, gesturing to the open chair. Reluctantly, Matilda joined him at the table.


	4. Chapter 4

"I haven't properly introduced myself. I'm Scabior."

Matilda said nothing. She had a sarcastic remark or two on the tip of her tongue, but her sass had gotten her into trouble over the years so she thought better of it.

Scabior waited, and then said, "And you're Matilda Gregorian."

"Samantha Vettles," Matilda insisted. The moment she admitted her identity, she would be implicated as Muggle-born for sure. It was safer to remain in denial, she guessed.

"We're off to a bad start with lies right off the bat," Scabior frowned. Matilda again kept her mouth shut, so he continued, "You're not in uniform. I gave you that robe; I can just as easily take it back."

Again, Matilda sat silently, staring daggers at Scabior across the table. She wouldn't be humiliated in front of him without a fight.

"But I won't," he said. "I couldn't care less what you wear, to be honest. I expect you know why I am here…"

Matilda's stomach growled, interrupting him. Scabior rolled his eyes. "Oh for God's sake, eat."

She hesitated, eyeing the bowl of stew in front of her with suspicion. Scabior ate a spoonful from his own bowl. "It's not poisoned. I've got questions for you. You can't bloody well answer them if you're dead."

Matilda finally relented and ate her dinner heartily. It wasn't the highest quality dish, but she didn't notice any off flavors. She also knew many potions and poisons were tasteless so she tried to keep her wits about her as she left her spoon in her now-empty bowl.

She lifted her eyes briefly to Scabior who was focused on a piece of meat on his spoon. He finally lifted it to his mouth and chewed carefully.

"Giroux is an idiot," he said with his mouth full. He swallowed. "But I've seen him cast the Imperius curse about a hundred times. I've never seen anyone resist him like you did." His brown eyes met hers. "I avoid the Unforgiveables, usually, but I had to see what you were capable of myself. You're quite a fighter."

Matilda was silent again, though she was a bit alarmed by Scabior's assessment. Was her show of resistance against the curse unusual? She knew very little about the Dark Arts, not knowing how much it would affect her current life. Her former job in a quill shop didn't require that sort of background.

"It's admittedly admirable," Scabior said, as if he were letting her in on a secret. "You and I both know this Pureblood, Mudblood, what have you, is a load of shit. Power is power. I know it when I see it. Have you been tortured before?"

"N-no," Matilda stammered. She had no idea where this conversation was going.

"Fascinating," Scabior said with a glint in his eye. He waved his hand, and a file materialized, which he began to thumb through with a furrowed brow. "Matilda Gregorian, clerk at Quailey's Quality Quills, muggle-born – only living relative is a Muggle sister named Deirdre, known associate of Florean Fortescue, last seen three months ago. Reward for capture: 250 galleons."

Matilda's heart sank at the mention of her sister, who was completely unaware of her dire situation and living a life free of magic and fear in Dublin, and of her old friend Florean, murdered by Death Eaters two years ago, but she forced her face to remain completely neutral. Scabior closed her file and gave her a conspiratorial look.

"I'm in this gig for the money, clearly," he said. "250 galleons is not bad, but I've seen what you can do. They have no idea what you're really worth." He leaned back in his chair with a smug grin. "I might just keep you for myself."

Matilda's eyes widened. She wasn't being handed to the Ministry, to You-Know-Who – at least not yet. She couldn't believe her luck. She was a prisoner, but her jailor found her valuable enough to keep alive. She wasn't sure how she did it, but she bought herself some valuable time to find a way out of this mess.

Scabior laughed at her reaction. "I wouldn't count yourself as lucky, pet. My name may not be eliciting terror to the general public from the pages of the 'Prophet,' but I've got a reputation. It's not one of kindness to my captives."

"Matilda is the lucky one," Matilda said slowly. "She's on the run while I'm a victim of mistaken identity."

"Will you give it a rest?" Scabior said with a smile. "I'm not new at this, you know. Wand identity confirmation would mean me handing you over to the Death Eaters. I'll do it, if that's what you prefer. But are you even sure this Vettles name will set you free?"

Matilda tried to smirk confidently, despite the sinking feeling in her chest. He was right – she'd rather take her chances with this danger she knew. The false name game was even less likely to play to her favor higher up the ranks.

"Now, Matilda Gregorian," Scabior's smile widened. His teeth were whiter than she'd imagined. "Do you know what it means to be one of my VIP guests?" He stood from his chair and took a menacing step toward her. Matilda swallowed but stuck out her chin. She would fight him, no matter what he was about to do. No matter where he threatened to send her.

"It means you belong to me," he continued simply. He took another step, and Matilda sprang from her own chair, backing up to the wall of the tent. She had her soup spoon in hand, ready to strike if necessary.

But Scabior remained where he was. He slipped a leather jacket from his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, revealing long, sinewy arms. Then he peeled off his T-shirt so that he stood with his torso bare in front of her. He was pale and so thin that Matilda could have counted his ribs. He kicked off one boot and then the other and pulled off his black socks. Then, he brought his hands to the button of his jeans, at the end of a trail of dark hair that led from his naval. From there he slipped off his pants, letting them drop to the floor. His eyes met hers, and he watched her carefully as he dropped his boxer briefs so that he was completely naked.

Matilda's breath caught in her throat, but she didn't move a muscle. She looked into his eyes, not at his freely hanging dick. He stepped slowly toward her, measuring her, until he was inches away from her. She placed a shaking hand on the belt of her robe while the other clutched the spoon with as much certainty as she could muster. He was so close now, one hand gesture from him could have ripped her robe from her body. She was ready to fight him off if he dared to try it.

She didn't need to. Instead Scabior whispered, "Now we're even."

He snapped his fingers and his discarded clothes regained their former places on his lanky form. The bowls and spoons, including the one she was holding, disappeared. Then he strode from the tent without a second glance at her, as if nothing had happened.

Alone at last, Matilda sank to the ground, trying to control her breathing. She may have avoided You-Know-Who, but Scabior was right – she was in immense danger in his company as well. As she blinked back tears, she couldn't help thinking that they weren't "even." Not in the slightest.


End file.
